


Imprint

by All_the_damned_vampires



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alien Abduction, Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Child Abuse, Graphic Alien Birth, Homophobia, Horror, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mpreg, Multi, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Other, Rimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_the_damned_vampires/pseuds/All_the_damned_vampires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On an alien ship, Dean Winchester awakes to find everything he knows and loves gone.  Waiting in grief for everything he knows to once again be swept away, he bonds with a fellow prisoner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Castiel

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a different take on the Alpha/Beta/Omega trope. The alien race has three genders, the Alpha and Beta provide seed and egg, which is placed inside the Omega. Omegas of this race birth three batches of triplets, expiring after the third batch. Humans who have been genetically altered to be Omegas do not expire after giving birth the third time. Both Alien Omegas and Human Omegas imprint on their Alpha and Beta partners; it is a match for life.

The peeling wood screen door slapped against the back porch wall and he was out the door and off like a shot. He ran through the mowed grass, green smell rising up to his nose from the crush of his bare feet, and into the cornfield. Behind him he could hear his father shouting, “Castiel Novak, you get back here young man” and dishes being swept to the floor, breaking china cracking like gunshots. He rubbed his red swollen cheek as he ran and hoped his mother wouldn’t get more of the same.

Through the cornfield and the woods, down to the creek, that was his plan. Soak his bare itchy feet in the cold of the swimming hole and wait for the sun to come up, head back to the house in time for church and hope that his father would feel too much guilt to take a swing at him on the Lord’s day.

Castiel paused, panting, before he had made it half way through the cornfield. Sweat dripped down his back and if his father had been sober enough to take chase, he would have found him easily enough by his wheezing breath. Cas popped out his inhaler and took a puff, lungs aching. He had never been able to run very far or very fast. Of course, that was part of the problem.

There were tests, it seemed, that one had to pass to call oneself a man. Cas had failed every one of them in his father’s eyes. Too thin and weak, too uncoordinated. Not interested in sports, too interested in school. Willing to help his mother in the kitchen. Friendly sympathetic smiles for the girls, outright avoidance of the boys. Bullied and chased and stuffed in trash cans. Cas had been trying to dodge labels like “sissy” and “homo” but they clung to him like the spitballs hurled at the back of his head. It was in his walk and the way he stood and the way he talked. There was no hiding from it.

In the beginning, when he began to become aware of his difference, he had tried to hid, tried to change, tried to please his unsatisfied father. He had choked and wheezed through Little League games and fumbled his way through Boy Scouts, hating the dirt and the sweat and how glaringly he didn’t fit. Now he didn’t try; it only exaggerated how he was. His visible free time was spent reading the Bible; his father thoroughly befuddled, disapproving of Castiel’s passivity yet unable to come up with an argument condemning reading the Bible. It had been working; Cas had carried it like a shield to school, joined the Bible study group on campus, read while eating lunch in a sympathetic teacher’s room, huddled behind it while his family was watching television. The words felt like they were printing themselves on his heart.

Cas trudged off into the corn, dirt powdering up around his bare feet. Tonight his father had accused him of staring at Tommy Jones, the oldest Jones boy just back from his first year of college. Castiel and his family had been walking out of the market and there was Tommy, shirt off, pedaling his bike with no hands through the street, waving at people he knew, big toothpaste-commercial grin on his handsome face. He was beautiful, shoulders damp with sweat, blond hair making a little halo in the light of the afternoon sun.

When Castiel’s father had struck his face, called him names, Cas had been confused, then indignant. The minute he had seen Tommy, he had ducked his head, turned to his mother and asked her whether they would make the potatoes or the rice, hitched the grocery bags up higher in his arms. He had not looked. He had been conscientiously not looking, not after that first quick glance when the sight of Tommy had been a shot to his gut, his blood warming, heat rising up to warm his cheeks. He had been trying so hard not to do _anything_ , and he hated being called out as if he had been devouring Tommy with his eyes instead of staring at the sidewalk. The more he tried to be different, the more he tried to be normal, the more glaringly obvious it seemed. They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t use the word. But Cas knew.

Last summer, when he was fifteen, his friend Alfie had been sent away to camp. Castiel and Alfie had bonded over their mutual hatred of sports, the shared bullying, the fact that they both knew and couldn’t get away from the truth. Alfie was soft spoken and funny, he loved science fiction novels and studying and drawing insects. But Alfie had disappeared and soon after his parents had come by to talk to Castiel’s parents. He had been banished to his room, but sat on the stairs, clenching the bannister with sweaty palms and listening to the whispered conversation, Alfie’s mother sobbing, Alfie’s father spinning out words like “treatment” and “conversion therapy” to buzz around Castiel’s head like angry bees.

Alfie had come back in three months. His longer hair was cut military short, his shirt clean and tucked in, his eyes bleak and dead. He had come over to Castiel’s to visit briefly, pressing his notebook of drawings into Cas’ hands. Then a week later he had swallowed his father’s handgun.   Castiel hadn’t been allowed to attend his funeral.

There seemed to be no exit in sight, Castiel thought as he pushed through the corn, wiping angry tears from his eyes. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he just couldn’t help but continue to fail these tiny tests, these measures of his manhood. Would his father kick him out? Would he be packed off to camp? He had promised himself that he wouldn’t choose Alfie’s route, that he wouldn’t let them win. Different or dead, and he couldn’t make himself different. All he could do was continue to try to hide.

After a moment, he noticed the eerie quiet, the nighttime fauna gone mute and still. Not a breeze rustled the cornfield, and Castiel felt smothered in the hot maze of stalks. Then a bright light engulfed him, the beam a spotlight in the dark, and he heard a mechanical humming.

He had time to think, _UFOs_ , and _what a cliché alien abduction_ , and then his vision whited out and he knew no more.


	2. Dean

There is a moment, when you first wake up, when everything is neutral. You don’t feel the aches and pains of your body, the joy or agony of your mental state. It’s like the reset button has been pressed on your life, there is nothing but awareness of consciousness. And then slowly the reality of the body and mind begin to trickle in.

When Dean opened his eyes, he initially registered no sensation, no emotion. His eyes blinked in the low white light, his breath eased in and out. Then it all crashed in, and he was swept away.

Grief. Unrelenting agonizing grief. He had lost them, they were gone. He was alone. Tears trickled down his cheeks, his throat clenched with sobs. Never before had he felt his crippling wave of painful emotion. He swept his hands up to wipe away the moisture and tasted salt with his fingertips.

Tasted salt. He paused and blinked open his eyes. Yes, he could indeed taste the saline of his tears, his fingers registering the flavor as his tongue would. He brought his hands before his face, took in the tiny bumps ridging his fingers. Remembered using his hands to touch, to taste and feel at the same time. He took in the blue tracery on the back of his hands. It would illuminate in the darkness.

He was laying on a slick foam mattress, cradling his naked body. He hadn’t worn clothes in a long time. His abdomen felt heavy, swollen, and a glance down confirmed that it was round and full, the skin taut and traced with more blue pathways. Between his legs, out of sight, he felt damp and aching, strange muscles clenching on emptiness.

The door to the room swished open and Dean’s heart clenched for a moment, but the figure entering was not a beloved one. He choked again on a sob as he was reminded all over again of his loss. He looked up at the creature entering the room, tall and broad, face and torso vaguely human in shape but the limbs decidedly more sea creature than man. The being eased into the room supported by many blue tinged tentacles. The forehead bulged out grotesquely from the humanoid face and Dean felt a buzzing pressure in his ears as the creature spoke.

“You are awake, now.”

“Yes. How are you speaking English? How can I understand you?” He knew this face, he had met this being before. All he had heard then was a series of clicks and squeaks.

“I’m not speaking your language. You are hearing your language. We added a neuro chip for language translation.”

“They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” the creature sighed, easing closer, “Poisoned. As far as assassination attempts go, it was effective.”

Dean’s eyes welled with tears, and he turned his face away, sobbing into the mattress. The wave of grief rose and rose and then his whole body shuddered as a tentacle slid onto his shoulder, stroking. It felt wrong. He jerked away and it withdrew.

“You were lucky to have survived. Most omegas go into shock with the death of one or both of their partners. You were in a coma for days.”

Dean turned his face towards the alien. “What is an omega?”

“What we made you. As best we could. The third gender of our species.”

Dean took in his changed body. He ran a trembling hand over his belly. “What is this?”

“What you were made for. To carry our young. Your alpha and beta have created life inside you. Three eggs, waiting to emerge.”

Dean shuddered, remembering. Oh, how he remembered. Before, he had existed in a haze of bliss, his only thought of his two alien lovers, how they made him feel. He would twist and turn amid a glide of tentacles, tasting and touching their flesh as best he could with his hands, small and limited compared to his partners. Long sinous limbs would ease his legs apart and then slide up inside him, two appendages bending and flexing and swelling together, sending his mind spiraling into pleasure, his voice raw with moans and gasps.

He blushed and looked away, looked down at himself. He should be horrified, he knew, but all he felt was a sense of accomplishment. He had done his job. He had given them what they wanted. And renewed grief; they were dead, he would never feel their pride.

“My name is Dean. Dean Winchester.”

The creature shrugged. “Your name was not important. They called you ‘pet.’”

“I…I have a father. A brother. My brother is Sam.” Intellectually, he knew, that he loved his brother fiercely. That he idolized his father. But emotionally it wasn’t there. I have a father, a brother. It was the same as saying, I have a shirt, I have a pair of socks. He felt nothing for them.

“What did you do to me?” Dean asked.

“You can ask the medical officer when she arrives,” the creature answered, “That’s why we gave you the chip. Most pets never receive one. It’s unnecessary.”

And Dean remembered, he remembered the clicks and squeaks, the stroke of a limb over his hair, as he curled on the floor, eager to please.

“My name is Zakuhr Ry-Eh, “the creature said, “I am your custodian. Your owners were good friends of mine, I will miss them. With their death, you and the rest of their valuable property will be returned to their family. The family will decide what to with you. I will accompany you and assist in your handling.”

Dean turned away again. He should be shouting with outrage, he should be trying to escape, he thought. Instead, he curled into himself, clutched at his pregnant belly, and began to sob in grief again.

“Don’t worry. I know this hurts, but it won’t last long. After the birth you will be assigned new partners, and you will imprint again successfully. You will never feel this pain again.”

Zak swept from the room, and the doors whooshed shut behind him.


	3. Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene between Alfie and Cas was directly inspired by this Kids in the Hall sketch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tZar4wRP40

He was floating.

Must of made it to the swimming hole, Cas thought drowsily, eyes closed and body undulating slowly. In the summer months he would swim out to the middle and float on his back, sun beating a pattern of red behind his eyelids, and just exist. In the water, his uncoordinated limbs ceased their flailing and every move became streamlined, eloquent. Once he had thought he might try out for the school swim team, but when he had shown up to tryouts in his cutoff shorts, embarrassed of his skinny body and bony chest, the teasing and scrutiny had been too much. It was a shame; he loved to swim. It might have been the one athletic skill at which he could have excelled.

  
Cas went to turn over to swim back to shore and found that he couldn’t, his wrists and ankles seemed tethered. His arms and legs felt heavy, numb. He tried to open his eyes and as he cranked them open into slits with great effort, his hazy environment took shape. The water was too clear and cool to be pond water, and it stung his eyes slightly. He tried to push to the surface to breathe and found himself dragged back down, his body held immobile. Panicking for air, he held his breath, and realized then he had been breathing all along. Something slick and soft was cupped around his mouth, providing oxygen.

  
All around him he heard clicks and squeaks, like a pod of excitable dolphins on a National Geographic special. He could feel the sounds vibrating through the water, pulsing off his bare skin. Hovering above him, a decidedly inhuman face appeared behind glass, distorted by the water. He tried to scream.

  
 _Alien autopsy_ , his mind gibbered away in panic, _anal probes_ and _vivisection_ , and he remembered every creepy sci fi program Alfie had made him sit through, Alfie on the edge of his seat in anticipation, Cas game but scoffing at the ridiculous premise:

  
_“I’ll admit there is a high possibility of intelligent life on other planets,” Cas muttered as Alfie shushed him, but why would they abduct redneck truck drivers to sodomize?”_   
_“Don’t say sodomize,” Alfie said impatiently, eyes glued on the small TV in his bedroom, “And what could you really learn from probing someone’s butt anyway?”_   
_“Well, if they have prostate cancer, or polyps—“_   
_“Cas, it doesn’t matter. It’s just because most guys are afraid of something going in their butt. Now hush and watch!”_   
_“I’m just saying, why wouldn’t they abduct a more attractive victim? Like Brad Pitt?”_   
_“Because Brad Pitt doesn’t make a habit of driving down country roads alone in a pickup, “Alfie glanced toward the open bedroom door, his face tightening, “My parents are home. Now if you’re going to yap can you do it loudly and make it be about Pam Anderson’s breasts so I can ignore you and watch the show?”_

Something thumped against the side of the glass, curling wormlike in Castiel’s field of vision and he jerked out of his reverie and tried to scream again.

  
The clicking intensified, pain shot like lightening through Cas’ body and he vomited bile into his face mask. Then he mercifully blacked out.


	4. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is not a linguist. Kev does not understand globalization. Of course aliens have ipads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gender pronouns may get a bit tricky here and my apologies if they are inadequate. I assigned he/she based on gender in the show, even though A/B/O aliens would probably necessitate different gender designations, and I am aware that there are other pronouns available other than just he/she. Also, Dean and Cas are sometimes derogatorily called "it." This has less to do with gender and more to do with status.  
> Some day someone will come up with something awesome for alpha, beta and omega pronouns. But that day won't be today and that person won't be me.

He was getting used to his new routine. The grief now came in waves, peaking at times so that he sobbed and wailed, curled around his belly, then dipping into a trough of agonizing depression and numbness. He rode the highest peaks, unashamed of his misery, and was grateful for the numbness, the break in his sorrow.

Dean used the numb times to remind himself of who he had been. That his name was Dean Michael Winchester, that he was sixteen—no, now seventeen years old, that his father was John and his brother was Sam. That he had liked classic rock and classic cars. And that until recently, the most exotic thing he had ever done sexually was let Rhonda Hurley put some panties on him.

He would have liked to feel something other than sadness, but it didn’t seem possible. The medical officer’s assistant, a young beta named Kev-Ahn, had been helpful in providing information about his condition. Apparently, he would grieve until he expelled the eggs, and then his hormones would reset his emotions, readying his body for a new and successful pair bonding, as regular as clockwork.

Kev had given Dean a sheet of smooth plastic, a television of sorts Dean supposed. He need only speak a word or phrase and the sheet would show him images and narrate the words that matched the pictures on the screen. It was entertaining enough, Dean supposed, and he was using it to familiarize himself with the alien’s culture, something to keep him busy and pass the time before he was able to stop worrying about anything and be artificially happy again.

In the middle of the night, he often awoke from dreams of his old life with his alpha and beta. He would gasp, covered with sweat, the place between his legs throbbing, arousal raging through his body. The need was as bad as the grief and sometimes Kev would come in, wipe away the sweat while being mindful not to touch Dean’s skin directly with his own more rubbery flesh, and talk to him about small things, about the daily life on the ship and his job in sick bay. Dean would listen for a while and then curl away, and Kev would leave. He had never felt so alone.

In the artificial morning, the lights would come on slowly and Dean would stretch awake, forlorn on the big warm mattress. He missed the slick cool bodies of his alpha and beta, limbs entwined with his own, stroking and gripping his flesh, preparing him for morning lovemaking. He would eat, a pouch of food that had the flavor and consistency of vanilla yogurt, then bath by himself in his saltwater bath, remembering a time he had been squished into a larger bath with two other bodies, soft appendages rubbing cleanser into his skin and whisking water away from his eyes, gentle care and clicking voices and love, it must have been love, of course it wasn’t love, it was biology, and not even a biology of his own. Dean would try to tell himself, over and over, stubborn tears dripping down his chin, that he had been taken, altered, assaulted. But he could only smile bitterly as he remembered one soft memory after another, and then he would cry harder.

The worst part of his day was when Kev would arrive to escort him to the sick bay. Kev was small and chatty, a dark purple color that Dean was beginning to associate with youth, and while Dean was grateful for the distraction of conversation the presence of other aliens just made his loneliness worse. He had already remarked on the fact that touch made his skin crawl; apparently he could only comfortably handle contact from his alpha and beta and they were dead. Kev was careful, so careful not to touch him more than necessary, but the alpha medical officer Rae-Tchel was not and the examinations had an abrasive quality to them, although they were not painful. On the first day Kev had thoughtfully provided a long tunic of soft white fabric and Dean wore it during his examinations, the soft cloth as comforting as sandpaper, but infinitely preferable to strangers’ arms and instruments against his unguarded skin. The aliens themselves wore only belts with little pouches on them, and Dean might have laughed at the idea of an entire species clothed in Batman-style utility belts if he had been able.

The other reason Dean disliked his medical examinations was that there was another human in sick bay. In one corner of the room was a large glass tank and inside Dean could see the shape of a young man, lean with toasty tan colored skin and dark hair, floating inside. Sometimes other medical personnel would be standing over the tank working, sometimes the boy inside would jerk and kick, sometimes the alarms on his tank would go off and Dean tried very hard to avert his eyes, to pretend that something very awful wasn’t happening just a few feet away. The aliens kept their voices down, but Dean caught very disturbing snatches of conversation, mentions of breathing troubles, of resistance to anesthesia and allergic reaction and panic attacks and it all looked incredibly painful and frightening. It was clear that the boy in the tank was awake and in pain and afraid. Dean himself had no memory of his own experience.

Today the alarms had gone off again as soon as Dean had lain down on the examination table, so he stared fixedly at the ceiling as Rae-Tchel hurried off to direct the activity around the tank, leaving Kev holding the viewing instrument over Dean’s stomach, charting his readings. The view screen showed the three eggs, safe in their soft fluid sacs, pulsing happily inside Dean, but he had seen it all before and pretending he was somewhere else took priority at the moment.

“Everything looks fine, “Kev said soothingly, his forehead pulsing with his exhalations. But the smooth eggplant colored skin around his large dark eyes crinkled with worry. He kept darting glances toward the tank. “How are you feeling?”

“Same as I ever was,” Dean said, gritting his teeth, because there was _screaming_ coming from the tank, he could hear it, muffled by the glass and water.

“Hey,” Kev said, a tentacle darting to caress Dean’s shoulder, then just as quickly moving away at Dean’s flinch, “Don’t worry about that.”

“Don’t worry about the torture going on right next to me, got it,” Dean said sarcastically. Feeling concern for another being was not a nice change from feeling anguish and loss.

“Your concern should be you,” Kev said firmly, then flinched and ruined the effect.

“I don’t get it, “Dean said, “I thought you guys were these powerful all-knowing aliens with your fancy spaceships and your high tech gadgets; can’t you knock the kid out or something?”

The skin around Kev’s eyes smoothed in his version of a smile. “You know, this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”

“So, why can’t you help him?”

“He’s seems to be allergic to several of the sedatives we’ve tried—“

“Kev-Ahn!” Rae-Tchel snapped as she hurried back over to Dean’s table, “It doesn’t need to know any of that. Status report!”

Kev handed over the screen and Rae-Tchel skimmed the results, a tentacle rising to swipe stressfully at her bulbous head. “Everything looks good. Excellent. Won’t be long now. Internal exam?”

“Not yet, “Kev said and Dean grimaced as Rae-Tchel eased Dean’s legs apart and gently but impersonally probed a tentacle up inside his channel.

In this, Dean was almost tempted to ask Kev to get the viewing screen and show him exact _wha_ t was going on down there. He had fumbled his way around below his belly in private, reassured to feel what definitely seemed to be his dick and balls, but he didn’t have the best reach at this stage in his pregnancy. Besides, he was a bit terrified of what he might find. He knew it was an opening, soft and smooth and wet and hungry. He could feel himself pulsing with need around Rae-Tchel’s tentacle, even though her touch was making his skin crawl. There was a device she used to get readings sometimes, all smooth slick metal, and when she inserted it Dean couldn’t help but wish she’d just move it in and out in a regular motion. His hips would rise and it would take everything Dean had not to hump the device, he was not going to perform like a dog in heat in front of his alien doctor.

Rae-Tchel removed her tentacle and Dean shuddered in relief. He watched her clean the viscous liquid off her appendage with a soft cloth (and what was that stuff oozing out of him, anyway?) and then hurry back to the tank.

“So,” Dean said, as he drew his tunic back down and sat up, “Can’t you just let him out of the tank?”

“Human omegas usually aren’t aware during transit, he will have questions.”

“Why don’t you talk to him, then?”

“No neuro chip. Pets never have them. Well, almost never. And we can’t do another surgical procedure on him; he’s had a bad reaction to our anesthesia.”

“Rough,” Dean murmured, then yawned. He was sleepy and depressed. He could feel his sadness mounting again, a peak of woe. In a short while it would be nearly unbearable. He wanted to go back to his room and bathe and rest before he started sobbing again. He wanted to be alone before the loneliness got to be too much.

Kev paused, his dark eyes searching Dean’s face. “You could talk to him.”

Dean sat up abruptly. “No.”

“You’re worried about him. This could be a way you could help.”

“How do you know we even speak the same language? He could be from anywhere on Earth. We have like, a lot of languages. Like probably at least a hundred. You probably abducted some poor Russian dude who doesn’t know a word of English.”

“Not true, “Kev’s forehead bulged in triumph, “He was taken from nearly the same geographic region on Earth as you were.”

Dean eased himself gingerly off the table, holding his belly. His gaze drifted over to the tank. He could see the boy’s hands clenching and unclenching into tight painful fists.

“Let me think about it, “Dean said, heading toward the door.

What could he possibly say? Hi stranger, don’t panic, aliens have abducted you and carved you into a new creature, a pet to fuck, and also dude, you’re gonna have babies. But you won’t care about that, you’ll be happy, so happy, and everyone you ever cared about before will drift away like smoke on the wind.

This couldn’t possibly go well.


	5. Cas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is awake in the tank. Graphic depiction of torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a break from this to play with the prompts at SPN Masquerade for a while.
> 
> Also, I had difficulty crafting this chapter. I'm not sure if the flashbacks and the canon-reversal symbolism really work. Part of the problem may be that I skipped ahead, wrote a funny first time sex scene for Dean and Cas, punched my own shoulder with glee a la Anthony Michael Hall, then remembered that I had SEVERAL chapters to go before I could get my two crazy kids to trust each other enough to hop in the sack for some alien-modified sexing. So then I had to go back and write this. 
> 
> Critique is always welcome. Thanks.

_His mother was standing at the sink, hunched over washing the breakfast dishes. Castiel stood in the doorway and watched her, in the harsh morning light he could see the lines bracketing her mouth, the wispy gray creeping into her hair. She held her shoulders tightly, her whole body clenched in preparation for a strike. He knew from pictures that they looked a lot alike: same triangular slope of a nose, same wide mouth. But she seemed to disappear inside herself after a night of Father’s heavy drinking; features pinched and shrinking in on themselves._

_“Don’t you ever worry?” she said abruptly, and Cas jumped. She was staring out the window, dishwater dripping down her elbows._

_“Worry about what?” he asked, tilting his head curiously._

_“Your soul,” she said, and Cas felt his stomach swoop with nerves._

_“I’m not doing anything,” he protested, and she turned to look at him. Her eyes were black and large and swallowing up her face._

_“You will,” she said._

And Castiel jerked awake. He was still in the tank.

After a while Castiel had decided: this was hell. Hell was not a medieval painting, it was not fire and brimstone, and it was not a snake in the garden. Hell was a cool tank of water, probing tentacles and endless pain. Hell was feeling like you were drowning, but never actually sucking in water. Hell was being held down and being cut into.

Cas drifted for the moment, flexing his hands in his restraints. He had panicked, the attack lasting for several minutes. After a time, he had felt something rushing into his veins and he had calmed abruptly, although he could feel his heart racing too fast, blood thumping like a drum in his ears. He had wrenched his neck and it was throbbing. His abdomen was sore and tender, like he’d taken one too many fists to the gut. His hands felt raw and abraded. The air mask was tight and irritating on his face and he wanted it off, off, off. He wanted to suck in water. He wanted it to be over.

He wasn’t sure what the worst thing he had experienced was. Was it the hours alone in the tank, floating under the pressure of the water, alone and panicking? Was it the tentacles reaching in to adjust and turn him, to stroke his flesh, to wield sharp devices and cut into his skin? Was it the haze of chemicals being injected into him through a series of tubes, making his heart race and his throat swell closed and his lungs stutter?

In the between times, he escaped into his memories, twisted as they were. He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or hallucinating but they made for a nice change of scene from reality, and at least that was something.

Cas felt nausea rise and he mentally prepared himself for what was to come. Quick and painful, he vomited, stomach muscles cramping. He held the acid in his mouth, then choked it back down, his throat, nose and mouth burning. The first few times he had vomited into the breathing mask, then promptly aspirated the mess. Several suctioning tubes down his throat had given him incentive not to make that mistake again.

There was an almost carbonated tingling in his arm, like soda rushing in his veins, and he gratefully felt his nausea subside. Floating, he opened his eyes and took in the hazy images of his colorful captors. From his vantage point they had all the delicate undulating beauty of a bed of sea anemones, until they got closer. Maybe he could just close his eyes and pretend he was swimming in an ocean he had seen once on TV, and this was a coral reef…

_Alfie plopped down next to him and sighed. “Nice view.”_

_It was. Cas had found the space months ago; this section of the school roof was easily accessible by climbing onto the maintenance shed; looking down it was much easier to avoid the relentless harassment that came in shoves and punches when moving through the mass of student bodies. Also, he had the voyeuristic pleasure of observing his peers without their knowledge._

_“Looks like trouble in paradise to your left.”_

_Cas peered over the edge at the couple arguing furiously below them. “Oh, those two. They break up every lunch period. She sobs in the bathroom, and he goes over to that tree and punches it. They’ll be back together again before final period. It’s either true love or true idiocy.”_

_Alfie laughed and Cas turned to smile at him. Alfie kicked his feet idly, and pulled a sandwich out of his backpack._

_“Up here they don’t look so tough,” Alfie said, “They seem so small and human.”_

_Cas swallowed back tears. “I’ve never felt so small and human. Alfie, I’m scared.”_

_But Alfie continued to kick and smile. “Like bugs down there. Almost feel I could pick them up and mount them under glass, like butterflies.” He turned to Cas, his eyes growing bigger and blacker until they dominated his face, “Wonder how they’d like being held down for once.”_

Cas jerked awake. Still in the tank. Still in hell. Something lithe and spongy and purple wavered in his peripheral vision and he realized there were two tentacles moving about his head, touching his ears, pressing inside.

He felt the panic building, building, building, his face scalding hot and his throat clenching in terror. His breathe stuttered in and out, and he screamed, screamed, his throat aching and ruined, back arching and fists reaching for space, any space at all. _Let me out, let me out,_ and the claustrophobic effect of the tank was ten times worse than any locker or closet he’d been shoved in, any time he’d been held down or pushed down, struggling to get up under a much larger body.

“Hey. Hey in there. Can you hear me?”

Castiel jerked as a rough voice resounded in his ear, the sound artificial and overly loud after so much silence. He struggled against the restraints, eyes darting around, looking for the source.

“Relax your left hand if you can hear me.” And Castiel’s fingers shot out in a straight stiff line, sore from being clenched so hard.

“Good. Try to calm down. Listen to my voice.”

 _Where are you_ , Castiel wanted to scream, _where are you?_ He thrashed in the tank, churning water.

“Look to your left.” And Cas did and _breathed._

Standing near the glass, fuzzy and vague, was a person. A real, human-shaped person, painted in shades of gold and brown, clothed in white.

 _An angel_ , Cas thought, and wondered just how much oxygen deprivation his brain had been subjected to.

“My name is Dean,” the angel said, “I’m here to help you.”


	6. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow White and Scheherazade walk into an alien experiment...

Floating under glass, hair in an inky halo around his pale face, the boy looked like a character in a fairy tale. _Snow White maybe_ , thought Dean, _waiting to be awakened by a tentacle-d prince or two._ Although the boy wasn’t sleeping, not most of the time. His eyes would slit open, they would move slowly from side to side, sometimes they would bulge with panic as the alarms klaxoned. That was happening less and less, for which Dean was grateful. Just talking into the device that piped sound into the boy’s ears calmed him down most of the time. If this was a fairy tale, then Dean was Scheherazade.

And Dean was getting better at talking this kid down off his metaphorical ledge. Not considered by many in his old life as a particularly loquacious person, Dean had initially wracked his brain for something to say to a person who couldn’t answer back. Bubble boy, as Dean had begun to think of him, couldn’t hold up his end of the conversation or even off any sort of non-verbal feedback, so what the hell could Dean say to him?

Talking about the current situation was out. Dean was trying to keep the kid calm and a few colorful stories about being the breeding bitch in a tentacle orgy didn’t seem the thing for a recent alien abductee. Dean had thought he might tell some of his spicier stories about some of the girls he’d hooked up with—Bubble Boy was a red-blooded American boy after all—but he hesitated for two reasons. First, the kid’s penis was _right there_ , bobbing about in the water like a disinterested sea creature and Dean had little desire to see it hard and tapping against the glass like it wanted out. It seemed a bit coercive and the poor sonofabitch in the tank had been through enough. And secondly he found himself disquieted even thinking about his old sex life. There had been girls, new and exciting and what he had chosen for himself and then there was his old alpha and beta and their tangled embrace. He had come so far from what he’d known and what he now craved in the darkest hours of the night was so strange, so alien. Putting the two together in his head made him queasy.

So he told the kid stories about his brother. Stories about Sammy. About dressing up like superheroes together, about riding him on the handlebars of his bike, long trips in the back of Dad’s car, candy bars bought and savored from the liquor store. About how Sam had put his foot down in sixth grade, demanded a permanent home and a stable life and how Dad had listened, miracle of miracles. He told Bubble Boy about how much Sam loved soccer, what a geek he was about doing his homework, how he had a big heart but a short temper.

The stories about Sam hurt because they didn’t hurt. He didn’t miss Sam at all. The affection and exasperation, the love and the regret, none of it was present. It was like Dean was reciting the plot of a sitcom, about a loveable snot-nosed kid with an awesome heroic-sounding older brother. Like a laugh track, Dean chuckled in all the right places, but it was hollow. And it was working. Dean started to speak and the kid in the tank calmed down and listened.

“He is doing better,” said a voice behind him and Kev glided to his side, large dark eyes fixed on the tank, devices clasped in multiple appendages taking readings.

“Might be doing better if you let him out,” Dean muttered, moving away from the speaking device. It was an old argument.

“He’s out of danger now,” Kev replied, “His omega transformation is fairly complete. We’ve reduced his drug regiment to only a mild sedative. His panic attacks have abated as well.”

Panic attacks. Dean wondered if Bubble Boy was claustrophobic. That would suck major, and Dean had already carefully convinced himself that he was _not_ on a space craft, zipping through the void, a thousand times more nerve wracking than a plane ride. The lack of windows helped.

Kev’s bulbous eyes searched Dean’s face. “You worry about him still.”

“Yeah, I do,” Dean laughed bitterly, “Worrying about him and weeping like leaky faucet seem to be all that I can do.”

“It’s normal to feel worried about another living being,” Kev said, “You two are so alike in your circumstances.”

Dean frowned. “How can I worry about him when I can’t even worry about my own dad and brother? They’ve got to be going nuts looking for me. And it’s like I just don’t care. But I care about him. And Kev, I even kinda care about you. You’re the only ‘friend’ I have here, other than Mr. Comatose in there.”

“The bonding process with an Alpha and a Beta, the way that an omega imprints on its partners, severs any previous bonds. The memories remain, but the emotions associated with those previous connections are forever dissolved.” Kevin sighed. “Myself and this human are new associations, new attachments.”

Dean turned to look at Kev. “Wait, so I can connect with others? Not just my…my aliens.”

Kev hesitated. “Yes.”

“If I saw them again, would I remember that I love my dad? My brother?”

“No,” Kev said firmly, “You can never get those feelings back. But if…if you saw them again, you could create new feelings, new memories. Like what you have created here. With him. With me.”

Dean swallowed hard. Talking to the boy in the tank and talking to Kev was chipping away at the loneliness. He was now spending much more time in sick bay, was able to tolerate more contact with others. But he had no illusions about what was coming his way. A brand new artificially joyful life with brand new alien captors. It wasn’t like he could commandeer the ship and steer it back to Earth. He couldn’t be the hero. He couldn’t save this boy and he couldn’t save himself. And most of the time, he didn’t even want to.

“But,” Kev said abruptly, “It’s better not to think of such things. Soon you will imprint anew and all this pain, all these experiences, will disappear like a bad dream.”

Dean turned to Kev, reached out and gingerly grasped a pebbled tentacle. He swallowed hard. “Let him out.”

“I…I can’t—“

“Are you afraid of anything? Are you, Kev?”

Kev’s normally deep purple color stippled with lavender. “I…I dislike sharp things. Things that could…amputate one of my limbs. There was an accident, several cycles ago…”

“Then let him out,” Dean insisted. “He’s drowning in there. He’s afraid. It’s not like either of us can get away. Hell, I don’t even really want to. Let him out.”

Kev’s eyes darted wildly around on their stalks, “If Rae-Tchel knew what we…”

“Which button?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I watched you. I did it, and you couldn’t stop me until it was too late. Which button to open the tank?”

Kev’s round eyes narrowed. One appendage drifted down toward a control panel. Delicately traced a sequence of lighted knobs.

“Okay, now scram, Kev. I got this.”

Dean waited until Kev had glided a fair distance away, then took a deep breath. He was no hero, not now and maybe not ever, unless it was in the mind of his kid brother, light years away from where he stood now and what he had become.

He pushed the sequence of buttons.

Alarms blared and shrieked at once. Sections of the paneling on the tank tank hissed steam, and folded back, revealing tubes that began to drain fluid onto the floor. The top of the tank slid back, and suddenly the kid was free of his restraints, hands feebly pulling at the mask on his face, the tubes in his arms churning water in his anxiety.

“What have you done?!”

Dean didn’t look to see who was shouting at him. He just smiled, small, sad and satisfied.

He reached his hand down, grasped the boy’s arm, and pulled him from the water.


	7. Cas

There had been chaos and noise and now there was quiet order and calm. Cas was sitting, _sitting_ , in a plain white room, not floating underwater, not vomiting and screaming, just sitting. It was glorious.

When Cas had been freed from the tank there had been the requisite screaming, trumpeting honks from the tentacle monsters, churning water and blaring alarms. But after days and days of torture in the tank it all seemed a bit anticlimactic.

Cas assumed he should have leapt from the tank, fists raised in vengeance, grabbed a scalpel and sliced his way through the aliens like some B-movie action hero. Perhaps a less muscular Kurt Russell, sans mullet. But his muscles had been spaghetti-noodle weak and instead he had clung to the only other human in the room, knees wobbling, and waited for the excitement to die down.

Now he had been consigned to some unknown room, clad in a truly ugly white dress-thingy, to wait for…something. He knew not what. Standing across from him, dressed similarly, posture stiff and unfriendly, was his angel, that rough voiced savior he had come to know as Dean. Looking over at his companion, Cas had only one thought:

Fuck Brad Pitt.

The young man standing before him was gorgeous. He had big long lashed green eyes in a fine boned face and a soft pink mouth. His hair was tawny brown and thick, reaching almost to his shoulders. Cas deliriously wondered if there had been some intergalactic memo, no more toothless yokels on the abduction list, only hot underwear models from now on.

Well, not an underwear model, actually. Dean had a bit of a gut to be honest, and Castiel wondered what kind of alien beer he had been drinking to get that way. The heavenly robes he had seemed to be wearing now on closer inspection appeared to be the lovechild of a hospital gown and a muumuu. Beneath the hem, Dean’s legs curved charmingly outward in a bow that when combined with his soft drawl screamed cowboy. His skin was smooth and pale and freckled but his neck and arms were traced with pale blue swirls, like a bad tattoo only partially faded with a laser.

Cas floundered, wondering how you made conversation with a hot guy in an ugly dress that just seemed to want to be away from you. Somebody that you thought you _knew_ , when you really didn’t know them at all.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean glanced at him, then looked away.

“My name is Castiel.”

“Weird name,” Dean responded. Cas smiled.

“My mother is very religious. She believes in angels, loves to read about them. She named me after the angel of Thursday.”

“You got a nickname?”

Castiel frowned. “Alfie…he called me Cas.”

“That your boyfriend?”

Cas blushed and stammered. “My best friend. What…what makes you think I like boys?”

“The way you’re staring at me,” Dean answered, apparently not at all upset at being on an alien craft discussing Cas’ sexuality. “If I was a chick I’d be clutching my sweater tight and giving you the evil eye.”

“I apologize for staring,” Cas said uncomfortably but Dean grinned, his face suddenly young and carefree.

“It’s okay. I know I’m kind of adorable.” And Cas smiled too when he realized Dean was teasing him.

“So…what will they do with us? With me?”

Dean’s smile faded and he rubbed his gut, turned his face away. A single tear trickled down his cheek and Cas tilted his head in confusion. Yes, they were alien abductees and yes, they were far from home, but Dean didn’t seem to be handling this well. Which was weird, because he had obviously had more time to get used to the strangeness of their situation.

“Dunno. Normally when they abduct people they wake up in their new…home. With alien owners. Sort of.   I don’t think many humans get to see the behind-the-scenes part of their experience.”

Dean’s face contorted and without warning tears began to stream down his face, his mouth working helplessly. Castiel stared at him, because first of all he was astonishingly pretty when he cried and secondly because it was so odd; was Dean a figment of his fevered imagination? Cute, funny guy, undeniably sexy, dressed like an obese shut-in, sobbing like a baby? Cas wasn’t sure his mind could have conjured up such a creation.

“It’s…it’s going to be okay,” Cas ventured, not sure he was providing much comfort. Dean nodded, wiped at his face.

“It will be,” Dean answered, tears still flowing, and Cas wanted to know what he meant by that, when suddenly the door to the room whooshed open and Cas was scrambling to hide behind Dean. A small dark purple alien stood in the doorway, making a series of warbling sounds and squeaky clicks, like a distressed dolphin.

“Hiya Kev,” Dean greeted the alien.

“You can…understand them?” Cas said wonderingly, peeking out from behind Dean’s shoulder. The alien warbled again and Cas had to admit there was something… _cute_ about his big black eyes and bright purple color.

“Neuro chip, or so Kev says,” Dean answered, tapping his temple. “They put something up here and now we can talk with each other.”

“What…what’s he saying?” Cas asked and Dean frowned. Listened. Smirked.

“He’s says we’re in big trouble for springing you. Kev’s on suspension from sick bay for his part in the whole thing. Which is great, ‘cause we can catch up on that show we’ve been watching on my plastic thing, maybe play some more alien poker.”

Kev squeaked and Cas wasn’t sure but it sounded indignant.

“I would like to have some questions answered,” Cas said, “Before we start goofing off with our alien captor.”

Dean turned toward him, grassy green eyes still tear bright, face solemn. “Okay, Cas. What do you want to know?”


	8. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kev's speak is in italics around Cas, because only Dean is able to understand the alien's speech.

“So, alien pets huh?” Cas said, “They don’t already have some version of a dog or cat?”

 _This kid_ , Dean thought irritably, _this kid had no idea_. Out of the tank he was awkward and formal, his bright blue eyes huge in his face, his head cocked to the side like a dog trying to understand human speech. He looked like the kind of effete nerd that would just get pummeled by the other kids, and Dean felt guilty thinking that. Back in high school he’d never been one to join in with the bullies, had been known to fish a few kids out of the trash cans they’d been stuffed in, but _this kid_. Dean couldn’t say what it was about him that was digging under his skin.

Maybe it was the responsibility. Dean had hauled him out the tank, now he felt responsible for him. He’d saved him, but he couldn’t _save_ him. And now they had to have a very awkward conversation about alien birds and bees. Dean felt overwhelmingly depressed by the whole thing.

Nothing to be done for it. No use crying. And Dean had already gotten one hell of a look from Cas when he had started bawling before, thinking about his dead alien masters. No way Cas could know Dean wasn’t normally such a crybaby.

Kev had begun to lay out his playing cards, taken from a pouch in his belt, and Dean had given Cas a quick rundown of the rules. There was no way he was having this conversation without the distraction of a fast-paced game and some smack talk.

“You know, those alien utility belts make me think of Batman,” Cas had said and Dean laughed. He had already tried to explain Batman to Kev. It was nice to have someone around who understood human pop culture references.

Dean fingered the shiny octagon plastic pieces in his hand, frowned. Kev was excellent at this game, but Dean was catching on. Cas was fumbling with the awkwardly-shaped cards, looking perpetually clueless. The problem was the cards were meant for someone with at least four appendages, three for holding each set of cards and one for drawing and discarding. Dean made do by holding two sets in one hand, and discarding with his teeth. Cas had given up on holding the cards, had them flipped face up where both Dean and Kev could see them, but since he couldn’t remember which alien symbol stood for which number, and he kept asking for clarification, it wasn’t as if he was seriously playing anyway.

“I just think it’s a lot of effort to kidnap a human and then change them,” Cas said, still stuck on the idea of human pets, and Dean was still reticent to lay the whole truth on him.

“Dammit!” Cas had been juggling a set of cards as he had been mulling things over and they slipped from his fingers, spraying all over the table.

Dean laughed. It felt good to laugh. He opened up the hand that held the two sets, showing Cas how the small nubs on his fingers helped the cards adhere.

Cas frowned. “My hands don’t do that.”

“Let me see.” Dean reached out, took Cas’ hand. It was warm and dry and it felt _good_ to be in contact with someone else, to touch. He hesitated a bit, getting used to a sensation that was not unlike licking Cas’ skin, taste-smell-touching the flesh, but the only ridges on Cas’ hands were the faint raised whorls of his fingerprints.

Dean turned to Kev. “He doesn’t have them.”

 _No,_ the alien said _, we didn’t continue the modification. He will still imprint successfully without them._

“What is it?” Cas asked, and Dean wished he wasn’t the only one who could explain, that he could pass this burden to someone else.

“No…sensors…on your hands. Guess they didn’t want to risk adding them with your medical problems. Kev says they aren’t necessary anyway.”

But they were necessary, Dean thought to himself. He had a sudden sensory memory: his hands gliding over a tentacle, muscular and strong, entwined around his neck and throat. Feeling the kiss of tiny suckers, marking his skin with little pink bites. His hands tasting and feeling, cool salt and pebbled flesh, as he brought his mouth to the tentacle tip and gently nibbled and licked.

A cough and Dean’s eyes fluttered back open and he flushed. Cas was staring at him, eyes huge, and Kev was shifting uncomfortably, mottled that paler color that meant discomfort. Dean could feel that place between his legs throbbing, wet and empty.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and then a wave of grief washed over him. He ducked his head, wiped at his eyes.

 _Do you need us to go?_ Kev asked gently, _We can give you time to yourself_.

“I’m fine,” Dean said, scrubbing his cheeks. “Let’s play.”

It was an awkward recovery, but Cas’ fumbling and cursing made it easier for Dean to hide what he was feeling. Explaining the rules over and over again until, newbie or not, Dean was ready to strangle Cas for his ineptitude, also helped.

“That’s a seven.”

“Oh. And this symbol?”

“That is ALSO a seven, dummy.”

“Dean,” Cas put a hand on his arm, face serious. “Tell me.”

 _You are avoiding the issue_ , Kev said, somehow already on Cas’ side, the traitor. _Tell him_.

“Sex,” blurted Dean, annoyed. “They want to use your body to make alien babies. There. Happy?”

Cas looked at Dean. Threw his head back and laughed.

Dean was arrested at the sight. Sure, Cas was a good-looking kid, when still. But put him in motion and he came off as just plain goofy. His wide grin, gums pink and visible, was so ridiculous and yet somehow endearing.

“Be serious, Dean.”

“I am serious.”

Cas stopped laughing. Sobered. His eyes darted down to Dean’s stomach.

Dean palmed the basketball sized lump under his shift. “Got three cooking in here. Is that serious enough for you?”

Face pale, Cas said nothing.

“So now you know. This is the truth. This is what’s going to happen to you. We’re stuck on an alien space ship and you’re gonna be a mommy. How are you handling the honesty?”

“Um,” Cas ventured timidly, “Is…is it like a half human and half alien baby? What does it look like? Does it have hands or tentacles? Hands and tentacles? Hands on the ends of tentacles?”

Kev made a rumbling honking sound, one that Dean had already identified as laughter, startling Cas.

“They’re not my kids,” Dean said, smiling a bit in spite of himself, “They are aliens. They look like aliens. They just happen to be using my body as an incubator.”

 _I can show him the scan_ , Kev said, pulling a folded bit of plastic from one of his pouches, _there are images he can browse._

“What’s that?” Cas asked, watching Kev unfold the slick bit of plastic.

“Alien TV,” supplied Dean, “Only you can watch whatever you tell it you want. Pretty neat.”

Together, they watched the images Kev selected. Dean kept forgetting that Cas couldn’t understand the voice-overs, and would repeat what was said only when prompted. But Cas seemed satisfied with the explanation. Although Dean couldn’t help but admit he was miffed that Cas didn’t seem a bit more freaked out. He was handling the whole thing like it was some kind of weird science experiment, rather than his own life. Asking questions and saying “oh, how interesting” when he should have been running around the room shrieking.

“So, how do they get them out?” Cas asked and Dean wanted to smack that calm curious look off his face.

“Bring up a birth video,” Dean commanded the plastic device.

 _Dean, that is unwise_ , Kev said.

“Omega human birth video,” Dean ordered, then turned away from the screen so he could watch Cas’ face.

Turned away before he could admit he was too chicken to watch it himself.

As groans and gasps and wet gushing sounds filled the small room, Cas’ eyes got bigger and bigger. His hands darted up to his mouth, trembling.

“Like what you see?” Dean asked.

Cas bent over, pale and trembling, and threw up.

 _That was unkind_ , Kev said.

But Dean shrugged.

The truth was a bitch.


	9. Cas

Dean was a jerk.

Cas wiped at his mouth, still trembling. Kev had begun quietly cleaning the mess on the floor, his large inhuman eyes suddenly the friendliest sight in the room. It was strange, Cas pondered, as his trembles of shock became trembles of anger, that he was light years away from his high school and he still ended up getting bullied, being made a fool.

“You’re an asshole,” Cas spit at him, “Why don’t you just admit you’re scared?   You think you’re tough making someone else feel terrified because you don’t want to face the truth?”

Dean turned away, mouth twisted. Castiel stared at the stiff line of his shoulders, his curved neck. Suddenly understood. And felt ashamed.

After all, he wasn’t the one who was going to have to go through that. At least, not yet.

Kev turned to Dean and spoke to him, shrill chirps and whistles, as Dean nodded and sniffled. Then Kev was gliding out the door, leaving the two of them alone.

“Dean, I apologize,” Castiel said helplessly.

Dean shrugged.   Hauled himself up onto the bed with a grunt of effort, turned on his side, hand supporting the bulk around his middle. Turned his back to Cas.

“Do…do you want to talk?”

“Going to sleep, Cas,” Dean said, his voice bland. He reached out and dimmed the lights. In the twilight dimness of the room, the blue swirls on his skin gave off a slight cobalt glow. Cas held out his own arms, watched the curly pattern of small dots on his skin illuminate like stars in the night sky. Like the galaxy printed upon their skin.

“Where…can I sleep too?”

The only response was Dean scooting over. Leaving a section of mattress for Cas. Cas clambered up on the bed, leaving a good foot of distance between himself and Dean. Dean’s shoulders were still and uncomfortable. Occasionally, he would gasp softly on an exhalation of breath and Castiel realized that Dean was still crying.

“I…I didn’t mean to upset you so much,” Cas said, mystified.

Dean snorted. Turned over and wiped at his face, green eyes dark and shimmering in the darkened room.

“It’s not you. Or anything you said. Hell, I deserved to be told off. I wanted to freak you out. You’re too calm, man.”

“I’ve had plenty of time to panic,” Cas replied. “And if I haven’t hurt you, why are you still crying?”

“Alien hormones, apparently,” Dean said. “You see, most omegas, that’s us and the alien ones too, die when they lose their partners. I’m feeling the loss, I guess. Maybe sort of like P.M.S.”

Castiel snickered, then covered his mouth with his hand.

“Thanks a lot,” Dean said, but he was smiling. “Go run and get me some chocolate and a heating pad, why don’t you?”

“Is there chocolate here?” Cas asked, interested.

“Nope,” Dean groused. “No chocolate, no coffee, no French fries. Just gobs of that yogurt goo.”

“Hamburgers?”

“None.”

“That’s terrible,” Cas said and they smiled at each other in understanding. Whatever might be done to their bodies and minds, they could laugh about the least of their problems.

Dean shifted, yawned. He pillowed his cheek under one hand, lashes fluttering down on one smooth freckled cheek. Cas felt his breath catch in his throat. He swallowed hard, the sound audible.

Dean opened his eyes. For a minute, there was something sad and awkward in his gaze, and then he was rolling over, taking Cas’ hand and pulling him close.

“Um.”

“Shut up,” Dean said mildly, “You’re the only person I can touch. It’s nice. Do you mind?”

“N-no.”

“Good,” Dean said, spooning back into Cas’ arms, “Then let’s never speak of it again.”

Castiel settled in against Dean’s back. His arm was draped over Dean’s middle, hand resting under the curve of Dean’s belly. It _was_ nice. He palmed the weighty bulge of alien babies. Under his hand, he felt the slight undulations of the small life forms, like the quiet waves caused by a pebble thrown into still pond water. He felt Dean’s shoulders relax, all the tension within him released in a soft sigh.

“Dean.”

“Not talking about it, remember?”

“I know. Just, how are we going to get out of this?”

“We don’t,” Dean said grimly, “There’s nothing to be done.”

“But—“

“Please Cas, just sleep. I’m not saving anybody. I can’t even save myself.”

They lay quietly for a moment. Then Cas said, “Would you tell me a story? One of those stories about that boy you made up?”

Dean stiffened. “Sam. Sammy. Those were stories about my brother.”

“The stories were real? Sam is real?”

“Of course,” Dean said, offended. “What did you think?”

“I thought you were just making up stories. I mean, some of the things he did were pretty cool. But you didn’t sound…emotional when you talked about him. I thought it was just a story.”

Dean said, “There were just stories. Let it go, Cas.”

“Do you think they’re looking for you? I wonder if my mom is. Of course my dad probably doesn’t care at all—“

“Shut up, Cas!” Dean shouted. He threw off Cas’ arm, scooting away on the mattress.

Cas watched Dean’s shoulders shake, head tilted to the side, perplexed. He had quite enjoyed the adventures of Sam and Dean, brothers and friends. Dean’s voice had been his savior, the stories his only peace. But Dean had never sounded wistful, or sad or angry, when he had been spinning his yarns. His voice had always been calm and remote, never emotional and tender.

“They stole him from me,” Dean said numbly. “That’s what they do. They make it so you can’t remember. Not who you loved. Not why you loved them. They just take it. I’m sorry.”

Castiel shivered, feeling cold all over. To lose his mother. To lose the memory of Alfie. It was unthinkable. To know them only as an intellectual thought, the measurements of their shapes, their roles in his life like a list in a filing cabinet. To lose all the loving moments, the affection and the arguments. It was a horror.

He looked at Dean. To _lose_ Dean. The gratitude, the confusion. The caring and the annoyance. This short rapport, building in his heart to something more, against his will. Would he see Dean again after he was bonded with an alien and see the green eyes, the curves of his face, and not feel the catch in his throat? Catalogue his beauty like an unimportant thing to file away in his mind.

“C’mere,” Dean said and pulled and Castiel let himself be pulled. Let himself be needed. He settled against Dean’s back, placed his hand back on its spot on Dean’s belly, where it was already starting to feel at home.

“Sleep,” Castiel said and Dean sighed and settled. Dean had saved him from the tank. Cas would save him from the rest. He would save them both.

If only he knew how.


	10. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short.

Dean lay awake. Cas was a warm weight at his back, Cas’ arm snug and reassuring under his middle. It was hard to admit, how much he needed this. The only other person in his world.

To imprint, again. To lose Cas.

It was unthinkable.


	11. Cas

In the dream, Castiel was walking down Main Street.

_He looked up, and Dean was riding his bike down the middle of the street, hazy in the warm summer heat. He was wearing jeans and a band t-shirt, his hair strangely short and spiky, skin flawless and tanned._

_“Heya, Cas,” Dean said as he pedaled to a halt, one hip cocked too balance the bike._

_“Hi, Cas,” came a voice. A skinny boy in an oversized flannel was peering over Dean’s shoulder, sloe eyes and wide smile, balancing on the back pegs of the bike. This must be Sam. This was Dean’s brother._

_“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said smiling._

_“Wanna come down to the reservoir? Sammy and me are going swimming,” said Dean, as if they lived in the same town, as if they did this every day. As if anyone as beautiful as Dean had ever talked to Castiel. As if they were friends._

_“Sure,” Cas said, and set down the bag of groceries in his arms. His mom was not in sight, but it didn’t seem to matter._

_“Sammy, hop on my handle bars,” Dean said and Sam obligingly hopped off the back pegs, came around and patted Cas’ shoulder, levered himself up in front, skinny legs pointed straight out._

_“C’mon, Cas,” Dean said, sun behind his head, white smile and beads of sweat glinting on his face._

_Castiel circled around the bike. Clambered up on the pegs. Dean’s shirt was riding up, showing a smooth expanse of lower back. His neck was bent, short cropped hair bright in the sun. Cas bent, placed a gentle kiss on the back of Dean’s neck, taking in his salty taste and smell. Everyone on Main Street was watching, Cas could feel their eyes, but in this moment nothing had mattered less. He brushed his nose against Dean’s neck._

_“Cas,” Dean sighed._

Castiel jerked awake.

He was pressed firmly against Dean’s back, nose buried in Dean’s neck. His dick was hard, his stomach clenching with need. Sometime in the night Dean had laced their fingers together, was pressing Cas’ arm firmly around his swollen belly. Dean’s ass was pressed as close to his length as it could get, minute movements rubbing them together. The back of Dean’s shift was damp.

Cas flushed, feeling guilty about molesting Dean in his sleep. Dean, who had shown vulnerability and a need for comfort, but that didn’t mean interest or attraction. Although Dean _was_ pressing back and into him, Dean was the one clenching his hand…

Cas began to edge back. Felt Dean tighten his grip, tug gently to pull Cas in even closer. Cas’ nose brushed against the back of Dean’s neck, tickled by the long golden strands of Dean’s hair.

“Cas,” Dean sighed.

“Dean,” Cas ventured, “Dean are you awake.”

Castiel knew the minute Dean awoke and realized where he was and who he was with. If it was possible to see invisible walls come up, that’s what Cas was seeing. Dean’s whole body tensed and even though they were pressed close together there was suddenly a great divide, a chasm between them.

“Morning,” Dean said gruffly.

“Good morning, Dean.”

“So what to do today,” Dean said, sitting up and stretching, putting some space between them, “Sit around on our asses, stare at the walls, oh wait, we can sit around on our asses—“

“I think we should watch the birth video,” Castiel said abruptly. Dean could avoid and deflect, but it wasn’t Cas’ way. He had always been blunt, even to the point of awkwardness. He wasn’t going to pretend all of this wasn’t happening.

“Jeez, Cas, what a way to wake someone up,” Dean said breezily, although his shoulders were up and twitchy, “No coffee, no breakfast, just a tentacle baby popping out of a man-vagina.”

“You’re scared,” Cas countered, “Scared of something you can’t get away from. We can face it together. You’re not alone anymore.”

“Pass.”

“Or we can talk about how we woke up,” Cas said, “About how you moaned my name in your sleep.”

Dean narrowed his big green eyes and it took everything in Cas not to flinch back. A fist in the face didn’t seem far off.

“Fine,” Dean said abruptly, “But I’m gonna take a leak and eat some grub. Maybe take a bath. The video can wait.”

He levered his bulk up, heading off for the bathing area. Castiel sighed. Trust seemed a long way off.


	12. Dean

_Hypocrite_ , Dean chastised himself, as he moved away from Cas.  He could seemingly deal with being the human meat in a tentacle-rape sandwich, but not with his increasingly tender feelings for Cas.  In his mind, liking a boy was somehow worse that everything that had happened to him?  Ridiculous.

It’s not like Dean had never looked at a guy, he had.  There was nothing wrong with it.  But he didn’t have a lot of positive associations with the things guys did together, based on his rather limited yet unpleasant experience.  And there were always girls, giggly and fragrant and close at hand.

It’s not like Cas was even _that_ good looking.

But it was more than wanting to touch.  It was wanting to confide in Castiel, to share his thoughts with him.  To be a team against all odds.  To explore the unique and profound bond, growing between them moment by moment.

Not just attraction.  But love.

Dean flinched at the sappiness of his thoughts.  He could almost hear his father, John, barking in his ear, discouraging any soft feeling.  Encouraging him to be tougher, harder.  Like his mother, Dean had a sunny disposition and a sensitive heart, and either one seemed a weakness when seen through John’s eyes

John.  Sir.

Dean sat up straighter.  He probed his memories surrounding his father.  Proud.  Dedicated.  Wounded yet still fighting.  Strict and harsh but ultimately caring.

It was still there.

The emotion was gone.  Dean felt no love for his father.  But he could still feel everything his father had wanted for him, every way that his father had shaped him into the person he was today.

Mind whirling frantically, Dean focused on the memories of his brother.  The fights they’d had, the secret nods and gestures they’d developed after long hours in the car.  How Dean wanted to protect Sam and be his hero.

How that behavior had bled over into his concern for Cas.

Even stripped from Dean’s heart, the aliens hadn’t been able to strip his father and brother from his mind.  The foundation was there.  If the three of them ever met again…

A wave of grief rose up suddenly and Dean struggled to push it down, wanting to hold on to the tiny shards of his former life he’d found buried within him.

As the tears rose up Dean forced himself to think about his family, even as he shook with artificial grief.


	13. Cas

Cas watched Dean lower himself into the bath water with a soft grunt.  He was content to turn his back to Cas and pretend Cas wasn’t there, and Cas could appreciate the attempt at space, at privacy, in this place where nothing belonged to them.

Dean’s shoulders hitched once, twice, and Cas knew that his strange new friend was crying again.  But the emotion was fake, chemical, and Dean didn’t want to be crying.  It struck Cas as yet another violation.  Not even their emotions were their own.

For Cas, the modifications to his body were unwelcome, but he surprised himself in how well he was coping.  Perhaps it was the considerable ways his body—human and unaltered—had let him down in the past.  The wheezing from the asthma, his skinny legs and arms burning as he ran around the track in gym.  Always picked last for a game.  Or the way others were so easily able to manipulate his own body to punish him: his head slammed in a locker, the sophomoric amusement a bully seemed to feel when he made Cas punch himself.  His own father and the ever present belt.  No, Cas had never felt in command of his own form.

Looking over at Dean, strong and agile even in pregnancy, Cas doubted it had been the same for him.  He looked like the good-looking kid everyone wanted to know, first up to bat and always hitting home runs.  Growing into his body with none of the awkward ugliness of puberty, one brilliant smile and all the girls were in love.  A boy like Cas would never stood a chance against that smile.

Cas frowned when he realized that he’d only ever seen Dean smile in his dream.

“Okay,” Dean said and Cas lifted his head, watched his friend approach, toweling water off his smooth skin.

Dean seemed oblivious to his own nudity.  Cas understood this had something to do with the fact that human omega pets did not wear clothes.  It was probably awful for Cas to be gawking at a guy in the final stages of alien pregnancy, but he couldn’t help himself.

Dean was goddamn glorious.

“Eyes are up here,” Dean said and Cas guiltily snapped his gaze to Dean’s face, visions of pale freckled skin and perky pink nipples still dancing behind his retinas.  But Dean was smiling a bit, his eyes still red from crying, but twinkling with mirth all the same.

“Sorry.”

“I’m irresistible.”

“I said I was sorry!”

Dean laughed and shrugged into a clean tunic, white cloth covering every beautiful inch, like a fine piece of furniture draped in a dust cloth.  He climbed back up on the bed and patted the space beside him.

“Grab the plastic thingie.  Turn it on.  Let’s get this over with.”


	14. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times in this chapter, heads up.

“That was gross.”

“Oh…my…God.”

“Seriously, I may never eat again.”

The video was about as bad as Dean had expected.  In it, a dark skinned boy, stomach distended, had sweated and grunted through labor, his two alien masters beside him, trilling and cooling.  Although in pain, there was a grin on the boy’s face, the manic look of a cult member who’s just drank the Kool-Aid.  Even in pain, his body not his own, the boy was loving every moment of captivity, thanks to alien pheromones.

All of a sudden, like his ass was blowing a bubble, a whitish membrane had appeared between the boy’s legs.  Inside, three tiny aliens squirmed, clearly visible through the transparent membrane.  The “bubble” grew in size, bigger and bigger, as the boy moans and thrashed, his hair stroked by alien tentacles.  Then  there was a splash and the “bubble” ruptured, spilling the three aliens messily into a waiting container.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Dean mumbled.  He wouldn’t have his aliens there to take care of him, not like that boy.  He wouldn’t have a hazy of good feeling making it all bearable either.

It was hard also to admit that while the video was disgusting it also turned him on a bit.

“You can,” Cas said, smiling encouragingly, although his face was a bit green. “I’ll be there with you.”

Dean smiled back but his mind was on other things.

“It’s just…” To hell with it. Dean shifted, his belly full and unwieldy, “I can’t see past this beach ball.  I couldn’t tell from the video. What does it look like?” He pulled his knees up, spreading his legs, “Does it look like a girl’s…thing?”

Cas gave him a withering look, “I’m a homosexual, Dean.  What makes you think I know what a vagina looks like?”

“Jeez, who talks like that?  Then check and see if it still looks like an asshole!”

“What makes you think I am familiar with the anatomy of an anus—“

“C’mon, man.  Help me out.”

Cas tilted his head, bending to peer between Dean’s legs.  It shouldn’t have been sexy, not after what they just watched.  But Cas could feel his face becoming warm.

“Does my junk look okay?  I know that’s still there.”

Cas nodded, then remembered Dean couldn’t see him from his reclining position. “Looks like mine, I guess.  Penis and scrotum appear to be intact.”

“Thanks for that, Mr. Roboto.  What about…what about the other thing?”

Cas pushed Dean’s legs wider. “It looks like…looks like a little mouth I guess.  Like a mouth puckering up for a soft kiss.”  It was a supple round whirl of flesh, pink and glistening.  Cas had the irrational urge to press his lips and tongue to it.

“You want to kiss it?!”

Cas jerked his head up, face flushing guiltily.  Had he said that out loud?

“Yes, you said it out loud.  Hard to miss you saying you want to tongue my alien-designed baby chute.”

“I’m sorry Dean, “Cas shifted uncomfortably, “I didn’t mean to—“

“You can, though,” Dean said, his eyes fixed on some spot in the distance, cheeks reddening, “I mean, if you want.  Now that we know it doesn’t look like the Pit of Sarlaac.”

Cas chuckled, “No visible spikes, I promise.”  He wanted to.  Dean wanted him to.  And he couldn’t deny that while the video was disgusting, it was also kind of hot. Cas leaned in.

Castiel pressed his mouth gently to Dean’s orifice.  It was plush and spongy, much like a human mouth.  He stuck out his tongue gingerly, lapping at the flesh.  It gave elastically under his tongue, a little rill of fluid pulsing out of the opening.  Dean groaned.

“Tastes salty,” Cas murmured.

“What did you expect it to taste like?” Dean asked, craning his neck.

“Sweet, I guess.”

“Nothing that comes out of the human body tastes sweet, Cas.”

“I’ve heard if you drink pineapple juice—“

“Blood tastes like copper.  Tears taste like salt.  Cum tastes like bleach.  Nothing tastes sweet.  Now are you gonna keep going or what?”

“How do you know what semen tastes like?”

“Jeez, Cas, just lick, will you!?”

Cas applied himself to Dean’s opening.  He mouthed around the orifice, nibbling at the ring of muscle.  His tongue lapped at the outer ring, then pushed in to the cavity itself.  It gave easily, pliantly, allowing his tongue to slip in and the gently gripping.  Dean panted and moaned, shifting restlessly above.  His cock, flushed with blood and traced with bioluminescent pigment, bobbed above Cas’ head.

“Dean, do you want me to—“

“I can get it, “Dean puffed, hands fumbling below his belly, “I can—“

“Let me,” Cas said firmly, pushing Dean’s hands away and gripping Dean’s cock firmly.  His hand moved in a smooth long stroke, up from the base to the very tip, then sliding back down.  He paused to coat his fingers in Dean’s slippery fluids, then stroked quicker, his hand a slick warm glove around Dean.

“Oh God, Cas…”

Cas stroked him faster and faster, his tongue pumping in and out of Dean’s hole.  Dean tensed, shouted, and his opening clenched snug around Castiel’s tongue, the relaxed, letting out a gush of liquid that coated Castiel’s cheeks and chin.

Cas moved out from between Dean’s legs, letting them fall lax on the mattress.  He climbed up to lay beside Dean, wiping his face with his tunic.  Dean’s eyes fluttered open.  He looked relaxed and happy, a look Cas had never seen on Dean’s face before.  Dean took in Castiel’s wet chin, and then chuckled.

“Ugh, gross, dude.  I basically just squirted on your face like a girl.”

“I didn’t mind,” Cas said, aroused and embarrassed, shifting his erection.  Dean reached over and grasped  Castiel’s dick.

“Dean, you don’t have to…”

“Cas, I’m not gonna leave you hanging.  That’s a dick move and if there’s anything I know how to do it’s be good in the sack.  Do you want to put it in?”

“Dean, you’ve made it quite clear about your feelings—“

“I know Cas, I know, “Dean said soberly, eyes searching Cas’ face, “I was wrong.  I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

Cas smiled sadly, reaching up to push a lock of Dean’s hair away from Dean’s eyes.

“And anyway,” Dean blushed and shifted, “Tongue wasn’t long enough.  Kinda wanted something deeper, you know.”

 


End file.
